


que nadie sepa mi sufrir

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, [lt. scott voice] there be cliches here, angst-ish, over-dramatization of events, ridiculously self-indulgent, set after barca's defeat to alaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: Worst start in eleven years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As the tag states, this is ridiculously self-indulgent, but I'm tired of all the #luchoout posts I see during every game. Also, I wanted to post this before the game for that exact same reason. More like #luchogetoutofmyface. Sorry for any mistakes, it's 5 am. (Minor edits will occur after I wake - unbeta'd as always.)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I'm getting in the habit of naming my fics after song lyrics, [thus showing everyone my one dimensional taste in music.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06kj95wy1aM) (But I've started listening to Los Lobos, where have they been all of my life?)
> 
> Also, apparently, my default writing style is incomplete sentences where I abuse the use of hyphens. This is your warning.
> 
> (I purposely used "Barcelona" to play-up the club/city ambiguity)

_Worst start in eleven years._

 

_They lost to some minnows, can you believe?_

 

_Say goodbye to-_

 

The phrases are swirling, pounding against his thoughts, stirring up a hurricane of doubt that he had a hard enough time pushing back with the speech he gave in the locker room. Andrés could still taste the bile on his tongue, the loss heavy in his stomach. 

 

 

 _Hypocrite_. He could almost hear his teammates whisper, considering the talk he just gave, but _they_ had a right to be optimistic. It was the start of the season after all.

 

 

But _Andrés_ -

 

 

Andrés could remember.

 

 

He was exhausted, the full-bodied, unsatisfying exhaustion that came from being substituted into a losing game. His feet felt like lead with every step he took as he tried to resist the urge to turn back. He didn’t want to leave the grounds. He didn’t want to see the backlash. He wasn’t afraid, he just wanted rest.

 

 

“You okay?” Andrés didn’t so much hear his coach fall into step beside him as much as he felt Lucho place a heavy hand on his shoulder, thumb digging into the hollow of his collarbone. Andres’ lips involuntarily twitched into a ghost of a smile at the gesture. It was unmistakably clumsy in the planned manner that only Lucho could do. Lucho’s grip was firm, just shy of painful, though no less sincere.

 

 

Lucho wasn’t as tactile as Pep.

 

 

Well, he used to be. There were a lot of things Lucho used to be. There were a lot of things Andrés used to be, too, he just didn’t expect that growing up meant growing old.

 

 

Andres slowed his pace while he thought and was silent for a fraction too long when he finally decided to respond. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t meet Lucho’s eyes. Andrés wanted to follow up his lie with a smile, pantomime a resigned acceptance he didn’t feel.

 

 

“Are you okay?” Andres ventures to ask Lucho, risking glancing over at him.

 

 

He sees a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye which leads him to do a double take. Andrés’ vision blurs and—

 

 

Lucho remembers too.

 

 

There’s an Alice band in Lucho’s hair and the Senyera’s on his arm. He’s tired. He hurts. _His calves-_

 

 

(Andres has seen him look at Busquets with a wistful look in his eye, heard Lucho say to Xavi _“The wrong one, huh?”_ and smirk while he shook his head in defeat.)

 

 

Barcelona hurts.

 

 

They both know this better than anyone.

 

 

Barcelona’s home.

 

 

Luis Enrique chose Barcelona, claimed it for his own for his own. He fought tooth and nail to establish his place here, even when it fought back. Even when it forgot. Even when it jeers at him like he’s the enemy.

 

 

It’s not like he can go back to Gijón. He’s a stranger there, he knows Barcelona’s streets better than his own.

 

 

Barcelona changes you.

 

 

It changed Andrés. It adopted him. _(Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?)_ He’s from _La Masia_. He’s Iniesta _el illusionista_. He’s there’s. He’s-

 

 

He’s from Fuentealbilla. _El manchego._ Some people tend to forget.

 

 

(Not Lucho, they never forget about him. He’s a foreigner. His accent’s too strong, his personality’s too brash, it’s too much to control.)

 

 

Andrés is mutable, he’s tangible. He’s easy to handle, but he’s never had to fight back. They’ve adopted him. They’ve—

 

 

There’s a video floating around where he’s saying he liked Real Madrid. Víctor showed it to him once, laughing like Andres hadn’t told him that when they first met.

 

 

It was odd watching his past self admit that – though watching a video of himself is something that Andrés will never get used to. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t him, but it was unnerving to be reminded of how things have changed. It was a surreal experience, albeit brief. He was distinctly aware of his heartbeat while Víctor waited for his reaction. He didn’t feel proud. It was-

 

 

Being a culé was normal. It was right.

 

 

He's Barcelona. _(Or is Barcelona him?)_

 

 

(Xavi still gave him a hurt look after Víctor showed him the video.)

 

 

“I’ll be fine.” Lucho replies with a weak smile that deepens the lines around his eyes. Andres is surprised to see that there’s grey in his hair.

 

  
  
The silence that follows is suffocating.

 

  
  
Andres can feel resentment creeping up like ice in his veins. He clears his throat and wants to ask why. _Why did they have to leave?_ The armband’s heavy on his arm, a weight he was born to handle, but it’s strangling. He’s choking-

 

  
  
In a swift movement, Andres’ head is pillowed against Lucho’s shoulder, the cotton of his blazer scratching his neck. He catches a glimpse of Neymar lurking by the exit, waiting to talk to Lucho before he leans against the touch and closes his eyes with a sigh. Andres can feel the weight of his teammates stares on him, questioning. Lucho’s not as tactile as Pep was.

 

  
  
He wants to pull away, but the sound of Luis Enrique’s _clavos_ tapping against the tile floor distracts him. Of course, Lucho’s always the last to change, why would today be any different?  Puyi said it was laziness, not comfort, but Lucho never failed to disagree with a shrug. It was pragmatic, he said. He’d spent ninety minutes in his uniform, a few more wouldn’t hurt, and, besides, being the last to leave meant no traffic when he left the stadium. Laziness, Puyi would repeat. Andres agreed. Though, he bet the custodians complained about the fact that Lucho didn’t even bother to take off his shoes. The jersey’s sleek against his cheek and Andres allows himself a few more moments of comfort before he straightens up with another sigh.

 

 

Andrés vision is hazy again when he fully turns to look at Lucho; he feels like he’s seeing double. Except, he’s not.

 

 

The _blaugrana_ never fully goes away, clear against his suit. (The suit clashes with his uniform, it looks- Well, he should be on the field, instead.)

 

  
  
“It’s my job to worry, Andrés.”

 

  
  
It’s what’s left unsaid that makes Andrés really look at Lucho. He doesn’t say it’s his job to _plan_.

 

 

It’s his job to worry. But he shouldn’t worry about a goal. He understands the spaces the midfielders leave. _Luis Enrique knows how to score goals-_

 

  
  
Andrés remembers what David Villa said in Sevilla, once. Though it was mostly to spite Raúl then, it didn’t make the statement less true.

 

 

 _Luis Enrique is my idol_.

 

  
  
Now, Andres understands.

 

 

Well, he _always_ knew, but it’s unnerving to be reminded.

 

  
  
The smile Luis Enrique gives Andrés is familiar. All teeth, sharp and hard edges. It’s ambitious. He’s hungry and Andres feels a twinge of sympathy for goalkeepers. He never asked Iker what he thought about Luis Enrique, but—

 

 

He’s intimidating.

 

 

Andrés finally feels like he can breathe again.

 

  
  
“Don’t worry,” Lucho repeats, starting to walk towards Neymar. He reaches over to give Andres’ arm a final squeeze. “We’ll be fine.”

 

  
The Catalan rolled easily off Luis Enrique's tongue, leaving Andrés to wonder why he had doubts in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by this movie my parents were watching - and I sorta watched - once where the dad was trying to reconnect with his grown-up children and he saw them as little kids sometimes when he talked to them. I don't remember the title, but it was really sad, I think. Also inspired by that article that went around not too long ago where Iniesta said that he's having ["the most fun he's ever had"](http://elbocon.pe/internacional/andres-iniesta-con-luis-enrique-estoy-disfrutando-como-nunca-el-futbol-131987/) playing soccer under Luis Enrique. He also mentioned that they had a unique relationship since they played together. (Shout out to Lucho showing Andrés to the dressing room the first day he was called up to the first team and got lost.) 
> 
> \- Sorry for always mentioning Puyol, but he said that he and Lucho are best friends so I am milking that for all that it's worth - and also he was Vice-captain under Lucho, so there's that.  
> \- I'm pretty sure Lucho was dressed casually for the game - polo shirt and what have you - but this fic, like every one I write is not real, and I decided to take some artistic liberties. (Was Lucho really the last one to change and did he really used to wander around in his cleats? You tell me.)  
> \- Barcelona finished 6th in the league during Lucho's second to last season ('02/'03).  
> -[Video w/ 11 year old Iniesta](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_yV4cv7fE4)  
> \- [It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. (photo of the two protagonists)](http://www.mundodeportivo.com/img/a8358000-7277-11e3-8000-01de514adb8d/lowres/luis-enrique-celebra-de-forma-efusiva-el-estreno-liguero-de-iniesta-en-valladolid.jpg)  
> \- [Bonus capità Lucho photo, for reasons](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/07/25/article-2705581-0069D21200000258-98_634x469.jpg)  
>   
> Like always, thanks for reading!


End file.
